


Witch Hunt

by CrimsonRen



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter Movies - Fandom
Genre: Action, Angst, Danger, Drama, Enchantment, Eventual Sex, F/F, Fantasy, Female Slash, Female-Centric, Fleur - Freeform, Hermione/Fleur - Freeform, Love, Magic, Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, The Burrow, courting, f/f - Freeform, fleurmione - Freeform, hermione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonRen/pseuds/CrimsonRen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A secret inheritance leads Hermione to investigate the death of her deceased lover Ron. Filled with thoughts of revenge she starts to unravel the mystery surrounding his death to track his killer down. A distracting new romance between her and the recently widowed Fleur, confuse her efforts as she dives deeper into discovering the secrets of magic itself. (F/F)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My lovely Amy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+lovely+Amy).



Witch Hunt- Chapter One.

She watched the castle burn. Dark pillars of smoke slithered from the high rooftops twisting and wreathing into the sky. Bright flashes of fire waltzed across hallways and danced through the treetops. Before she had never thought that fire could be anything but chaotic. Compared to magic though, it almost seemed predictable. Smoke would rise, fire would burn, but eventually the flames would be quenched and the ash would disperse. It was easy, predictable, with simple solutions that could be hard to execute, yet still anyone be it Muggle or Wizard knew how to snuff a fire. 

That was the trouble with magic it was so unpredictable. There are many facets of magic, and Hermione knew them all. She could summon a wind to blow out the flames, pour a foam potion to extinguish the fire, or transfigure the inferno and ash into something benign. There were many more options and they all did race through her brilliant mind but she ignored them, because her trouble wasn’t with the fire. 

Her problem was the source of the fire, wizards, and specifically dark wizards called the Death Eaters. This was the problem with magic. Too many wizards, too many types of magic, and too many possible spells they could use to rip her apart. Maybe that was the reason she studied so fervently. Coming from a non-magical upbringing, the ability to use magic was of course a fantasy come true. She was pragmatic though, and Hermione knew early on the dangers with magic and set out to arm herself in this new world. Almost any spell if used creatively could do as much damage as it could do well. The blatant flippancy some wizards used when practicing magic was almost insulting. So she studied, enjoying learning every bit of anything so she would never be caught unprepared. Almost all of it had come in handy in her misadventures with Harry and Ron. 

Today was the day of the Battle of Hogwarts, and it was not the first day she had lived through it. She stroked a thumb over the delicate hourglass incased in gold before tucking it back under her shirt. It was possibly the last time-turner in existence, the rest of them destroyed when the ministry was attacked. She herself didn’t know why Dumbledore had trusted her with it, but a secret inheritance lead her to a vault below Gringott’s bank a few days ago. 

Her brown hair bobbed as she walked through the vacant corridors, sticking close to the shadowed walls just in case. She climbed a tall set of stairs and settled into a windowsill, hiding herself partially behind a curtain. From her satchel the witch pulled out a pair of binoculars and looked down into the courtyard below. 

It was a sight that she had seen many times in her nightmares. Children, some older than her but most of them younger clumped into groups with their wands raised. Some of them could barely hold their wands, because their hands were shaking so hard from fear. 

Smoke, wispier and more intangible than the smog from the fire swarmed and harassed the students. A loud crack was the only warning they got before the Death Eater came out of its apparition. Flashes of light lit up the courtyard, but the blinding green strobe of the killing curse felled multiple children before the dark wizard was brought down. It was a disarming spell, followed by a clumsy stun spell cast by the ginger haired wizard that could only be Ron. 

Hermione chocked on a cry, tears falling down freely from seeing Ron alive again. She wanted to call out to him, warn him about the second wand in the wizard’s cloak, but she couldn’t risk the consequences. 

She saw him die for the second time. Then there was another loud crack, and the Death Eater escaped. She put down the binoculars and took out her notebook to scribble into it all that she noted and observed about the Death Eater. She was going to track Ron’s killer down. 

The first and actual time Ron died Hermione was not there to see it. She was off in another part of the school fighting her own part of the war. When she saw the little gold necklace in the vault the desire to see how he died immediately seized her mind. She knew the risks; his death was weeks not hours in the past, but she chose to disregard them. After all she played an important part for years in saving the world, she should deserve bending a rule or two. Especially since Ron was her best friend and her something, a lover that never got a chance to really be with her. 

After seeing him die though, all she wanted was revenge. This trip was the only other time she traveled back to the battle, but this time she wanted to watch his killer. There were many Death Eaters still not accounted for, and she was determined to find Ron’s murderer. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do when she found the wizard though. The rage in her heart screamed for bloody revenge, but the rational voice in her mind said lock them in Azkaban for life. 

The world around her vanished as she was ripped from it, returning her back to her small room in the Burrow. She lurched forward from her seat on the bed, collapsing onto the ground and grabbing the nearby waste bucket to puke into it. Her muscles seized and cramped painfully. Traveling that far back was rough on her body, this would be her last time to attempt it.

A frantic knocking at the door pulled Hermione’s attention from the trash bin. Fleur, a recent widow who also had taken up residence at the Weasley’s burst in with a panicked look on her beautiful face. 

“ ‘Ermione!” She cried out in her singsong voice. “What is ze matter? I ‘eard a crash and then retching!” 

Hermione took a moment to respond. To Fleur it looked as if she was fighting back another wave of nausea, but the truth was that Hermione was gathering her wits.  
She never really knew what to do with Fleur, because she was unsure of how she even felt about the girl. Fleur was obviously stunning. Her golden hair, light eyes, and perfect bone structure were inherited from her Veela grandmother. If life was fair Fleur would have been born stupid and evil to balance out her immense beauty, but it was the way she carried herself, that made her really enchanting. She was a Tri-Wizard Champion, and that meant she was brave, charismatic, quick witted, and strong. She had a deeply compassionate side to her, especially when it came to family. Because of this Fleur charmed everyone around her, regardless of gender. Which is why Hermione didn’t know how to deal with her. Part of Fleur frustrated her, she was a seemingly perfect woman and anyone would feel insecure to be compared to her. But there was still a part in herself that was attracted to this beautiful French girl, and that bothered Hermione even more. 

“It’s nothing, I’m alright. Just a bit of dizziness.”

Fleur gazed down at her, her sharp eyes examining the situation as the gears of her mind clicked into place. “You are not, you know.”

Hermione burst into laughter and set the trash bin aside. “Good god Fleur, no I am not pregnant. Honestly how would I have had the time for any of that with all that’s been going on.”

Fleur relaxed a bit, and a gentle relieved smile brushed her lips. “Are you zick then? Do you need zome tee?”

Hermione tenderly picked herself up and smoothed out her skirt. “I’m not sick but some tea would be lovely thank you.” Fleur left and Hermione collapsed on her bed with a sigh. She chuckled to herself a little; pregnant, of all the things Fleur could have come up with. Her laughs became dirtied with bitterness, she and Ron had never gotten to that point, and now she had nothing left of him. Not that she wanted to be a single mother, but a few years down the line she had imagined starting a family with him. 

She pulled out her notebook from the bag. To her relief her notes and drawings were still there. Time travel was a tricky business and she was unsure if the changes she made to an item brought with her in the past would persist to the future. 

She traced a finger over the drawn lines of the first wand, feeling the wavy patches that were misshapen by her tears. It was a real beauty carved from imported rosewood. It would be impossible for her to tell what the core was because she was not a wand expert, but she recalled in the back of her mind that cores from fire beasts paired well with rosewood. She bet that the core was either a phoenix tail feather, or a dragon heartstring. She recalled from memory the shine on it; the whole length was treated with expensive lacquer. The design of the wand was unnecessarily ornate, covered with intricate swirls and flourishes. This was definitely the Death Eater’s personal wand. It was a known fact that the closest followers of Voldemort were of noble blood and old money.

The second wand was much simpler, stolen from a dead student Hermione supposed. It was longer, about 12 inches to the other’s 9, and carved from a humble maple. The pattern on it was Celtic, a few inordinate knots twisted around the handle. She doubted that this wand would provide her any information about the Death Eater, but she would leave no stone unturned. At the very least she could send it back to the owner, or more grimly, the family of the owner.

She then turned her attention to her sketch of the Death Eater. By the broadness of the shoulder and the height, she assumed this particular one was a man. He was about 6’3”, taller than normal, which made him all the easier to find. The wizard of course had the Dark Mark on the underside of his fair colored arm.

Hermione, still deep in thought, drifted over to her wardrobe and locked the notebook in the top shelf. She looked up, and nearly startled to see her own reflection. No wonder Fleur had thought she was sick, the long days indoors had left her skin unnaturally pale. For the past weeks grief had been her make up, and she wore it still. Dark bags hung below her eyes and aged her, so that she could hardly believe she was nineteen. She almost pitied herself, but pity wouldn’t solve anything. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. She called for the visitor to enter, and Fleur laden with a tray of tea emerged from behind the creaky door. Hermione accepted her cup with a polite thank you, and was mildly surprised when Fleur didn’t leave. Instead she took up her own teacup and motioned for Hermione to sit beside her on the bed. Hermione tentatively sat beside the other woman, unsure what she wanted with her, and annoyed that her quiet time of thinking was being encroached upon. 

She looked Hermione in the eyes and held her gaze. “I am worried about you.” 

Hermione hesitated, and fought the urge to look away. “You don’t have to be.” Hermione lied, she wasn’t all right in body and most likely mind, but she was beginning to see her way out of this despair, which was good enough.

Fleur smiled warmly at her saying, “I ‘ope o. I care about you so much ‘ermione.” The young witch fought not to blush as Fleur moved to hold her hand. Hermione almost jumped at the sudden contact, which was probably her first human interaction in days. It enhanced her discomfort more that Fleur’s hands were soft, and Hermione enjoyed holding them.

She shifted in her seat nervously. “Thanks Fleur for your concern. But really, I am fine.”

Fleur’s sharp blue eyes scanned Hermione, settling to rest at Hermione’s lips. A chill ran up Hermione’s spine and a thought popped in her head so surreal it had to be crazy; that this beautiful French girl was about to kiss her. Hermione flinched, and Fleur regretfully pulled away. “I am glad zen.” She said as she slowly stood up. Hermione let her hands slip out of Fleur’s, to rest in her lap. Fleur made for the door, flashing Hermione one last longing smile. 

For what seemed to be the tenth time that day, Hermione collapsed onto her back into the soft blanket of her bed. She closed her eyes as her head throbbed in thought and confusion. Was that what she thought it was? Fleur? Interested in her? Hermione felt a wave of regret wash through her, the kind that came after a missed opportunity. But that too had to be crazy right? It didn’t matter, the young witch decided. Contrived romance aside there was still the matter of the Death Eater, and that was more important.

“And Ron.” Hermione thought to herself, a fresh ache of pain squeezing her heart. She was not ready to let him go yet. But maybe someday, when her conscious was clear she could find love again with another.


	2. Chapter Two- The Cursed Door

Chapter Two- The Cursed Door

A searing band of orange cut through the lightening purple of the night sky as the sun broke the horizon. It was early, still before the time when salary workers would start to wake and prepare for the day. A stray cat scattered out of a neglected alleyway to flee from the clicking footsteps of the encroaching stranger. The soft tapping of wood on brick echoed off the plain concrete floor of the alley. A mumbled whisper, a flash of light, and then a brief silence that was broken by the grinding of bricks folding and sliding back. 

Hermione pulled up her cloak, tying it a little tighter around her neck, and folding up the soft wool hood over her curly hair. A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she stepped through the doorway into Diagon Alley. Eight years ago she had first come here with her parents as a wide-eyed little girl shopping for her first wand. My how things have changed.

A few months ago the ally was full of life. Shop windows displayed fashionable wares, and brightly bound books lined the bookshop displays. A jolly old witch sold colorful candies from an apple red cart on the cobble stone street in front of the apothecary store. Above the sharp laughter of children playing with their Wizard Wheezes, the hooting of owls and the croaking of toads could be heard.

Now Diagon Alley was quiet in the early stages of recovery. The Death Eaters destroyed Ollivander’s wand shop. When the Ministry fell and the Muggle Born Commission began, paranoid resulted in violence and small riots. Stores of Wizards taken by Snatchers were looted, and vandalism was rampant. As Hermione walked down the broken street she could see the faded letters of ‘Mudblood’ spray painted on walls. Her stomach turned sour. She ran her fingers over her forearm. The scar of those same words throbbing in the memory of the prejudice. 

She soldiered on until she reached the collapsed doorway into Ollivander’s. The shop had sat neglected too long. The door had been blown off its hinges, resting among the dirt and leaves that had blown inside. The inside of the store was dilapidated and destroyed. The tall shelves that had held the myriad of wands were overturned; patches of the old polished wood were scorched black by magic. The wands, those beautiful wands that Ollivander had crafted were disrespected. Many of them were snapped and strewn about the floor amongst the crushed boxes and soiled ribbon. 

Her skin prickled as she moved deeper into the store. She could feel the magic in this place, most of it old and happy. It was the magical thumbprint Ollivander left behind after years of crafting and enchanting. Here and there she felt the sharp stabs of dark magic, like vipers in the shadows striking at her suddenly. Those venomous fangs she knew personally, for she had been a victim to them herself. The torture curse, “Cruciatus”, she whispered under her breath. She pitied old Ollivander even more.

When she reached the back of the store she climbed the narrow stair case up to the landing. A small dusty hallway lead back to the workshop, which was locked behind a stout door. What Hermione had come for was in there, if it existed at all. She was searching for records, so that she might figure out who was the owner of the rosewood wand. Although Ollivander was not the only wand smith, he was the best in the world, and the wand in question was of the highest quality. So his records were the natural first choice to turn to.

She fished her wand out of her cloak pocket and raised it, the words ‘Alohomora’ forming on her lips. Suddenly a heavy blow to her hand disarmed her, and it was in that moment of broken concentration that she registered that a sharp “Expelliarmus!” had been yelled a second before from behind her. She turned to face her assailant, preparing to throw herself at them if necessary. To her shock, it was Harry standing in front of her looking angry at first, and then just as surprised as she was.

“Bloody hell Hermione!” he cursed at her. “What in Merlin’s beard are you doing here?”

“Me?” She replied, offended. “What about you?”

“The Auror’s have this place tagged Hermione! I was investigating a break in, which I suppose you would know all about right?”

“Right.” Hermione replied, the guilt of her actions coming to surface. “Well it really wasn’t hard. Maybe if the Auror’s didn’t want anyone in here they should fix the doorway, so that there might actually be a door preventing anyone from coming in.” She quipped back. Harry huffed at that, but she did have a point.

“What are you even doing here anyway? Geez, I nearly stunned you, you know!”

“I know, and thanks for not doing that by the way. But listen to me Harry, I need something from in there.”

Harry took in her desperation. Hermione was the most brilliant witch he knew. She always seemed to have a solution to everything, and seeing her so rattled was an uncomfortable experience for him. For now he chose to trust her, for he was a Gryffindor and loyal to a fault. “Even if I did let you get whatever it is you need, you can’t get in there. It’s hexed, Ollivander put a nasty curse on the room. Just watch.” From his pocket Harry produced a crumpled bit of parchment and tossed it at the door. As soon as the paper touched the surface, it combusted into flames, spreading little bits of ash drifting through the air. “It works for magic too. You probably would be looking like that if I didn’t stop you.”

Hermione took in a sharp breath of realization, mentally kicking herself for not discovering the curse herself. “Why would Ollivander…” Her thoughts trailed off, the reason overwhelmingly obvious.

“Death Eaters.” Harry confirmed her suspicions. “They thought he could make an Elder wand, they wanted it from him desperately, and he didn’t want them to know if he actually could. Not to mention his trade secrets. At least that’s what the Ministry thinks.”

“And what do you think?” Hermione questioned.

“Well, I think there’s that.” Harry began, “But I also think he was protecting his things from the Ministry too.”

“The Muggle Born Commission.” Hermione stated.

“Right. They were trying to prove that M  
uggle-borns stole their magic. If they had his records they could doctor them, make it seem like they stole their wands from magical families or something.”

“Sounds like something they would have done. Damn it Harry! How am I supposed to get passed this?” She cursed at the door. 

“If you figure it out, the Auror’s would like to know too.” Harry sighed. They both stared at the cursed door for a breath. “Well I need to reset the charm. I’ll meet you back at the Burrow later and maybe we can sort out this mess you have gotten yourself into Ms. Granger.”

Hermione returned his smile and followed Harry downstairs. She waved goodbye and headed back to the alleyway to retrieve her Portkey.


	3. The Garden

Chapter Three- The Garden

The world spun to a halt as Hermione dropped the old tea kettle that served as a Portkey. Most wizards would consider traveling by flu powder more convenient, but Hermione never minded the walk through the fields home. She emerged from the tall grass and stepped out onto the poorly paved path that lead to the Burrow; one arm aching under the weight of her bag, stuffed full with the little errands she had decided to finish before she headed home from Diagon Ally. New quills and a fresh set of ink were a need, but the chocolate frogs and assortment of candy was a necessary indulgence. After all how was she expected to cope with all the stress now that Harry had become involved? She wanted to lie to him, come up with some excuse like verifying a theory on wand cores or some other hogwash, but she knew he probably wouldn’t believe it. Just like how he probably wouldn’t let her leave him out of this newest adventure, even though she had every intention to. 

It was about a half mile away that Hermione began to see the rose garden. It was Fluer’s, planted in the side yard by her late husband as a wedding gift. It always seemed out of place to Hermione though, an elegant patch of color next to the humble, rustic clumsiness that was the burrow. It was enchanting, like Fleur, and Hermione always gazed upon it from her return from work. 

She was on the walkway to the front door, when she noticed Fleur was in the garden today. Hermione froze, the weight of the bag urging her to continue home, but she found herself unwilling to move. She had been avoiding Fleur to the point of being borderline rude. She hadn’t meant to in the beginning, but once she started she couldn’t stop. 

It was because Fleur was too distracting was Hermione’s excuse for it all. Every time Hermione tried to work on her mystery Fleur would appear, settling down beside her comfortably and distracting her from her tasks. The worst part was that Hermione found that she wanted it to happen; she began to prefer Fleur’s gentle smiles and charming laughter much more than the dark work she chose for herself. And that was precisely why Hermione had to avoid Fleur, she couldn’t allow Ron’s death to not be avenged.

It wasn’t long before Fleur noticed Hermione standing by the gate of the garden. In a swift movement of long limbs and grace Fleur rose from her seat at the small tea table and crossed the garden over to Hermione. Hermione startled a bit, the hold of her trance broken slightly by the sudden movement. Fleur held outstretched a slender hand towards her, and Hermione dropped her bag to take it. 

The young witch followed Fleur into the garden, taking a seat at the table when it was offered. The floral scent of the garden was more overwhelming then at the gate, the perfume made Hermione feel pleasantly lightheaded. The flowers must be charmed, Hermione decided.

“I ‘ave not zeen yew in a long time.” Fleur began. 

Hermione squeezed Fleurs hand, a mild surprise dogged the back of her mind that she was still holding it. “It’s been… well fairly busy lately. I didn’t mean to not see you Fleur, really. I’ve been missing you.” Hermione blushed lightly at her confession.

Fleur relaxed, looking very pleased. The blonde witch entwined her fingers more intimately with Hermione’s, causing another flush to briefly bloom across Hermione’s fair cheeks. “Iz zat so? I am always wondering what it iz you dew. Your ‘obby is studying no? Charms? It ‘as been dreadful without yew for company!” Fleur prattled on. “The twin, George, yes? ‘E ‘as been so nasty to me! The nerve! Yesterday he put somethink’ in my le fard, my compact zat turned my face purple!”

Hermione couldn’t help but to laugh, she wished she had seen it. Fleur shot her a prissy pout. 

“I looked ‘ideous ‘Ermione.”

Hermione smiled, she was convinced that even with a purple face Fleur would still be beautiful. “Even purple I’m sure there would still be a line of boys dying to ask you to the Yule Ball.”

Fleur laughed in response, her chiming giggles tinted with a little bit of haughtiness. “I could get a violet dress to match.”

Hermione imagined Fleur in a striking purple gown twirling on the dance floor. It made her miss her student days and she wondered what it would have been like to dance with Fleur at that Ball. 

Their conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley calling them inside for breakfast.

Hermione earnestly glanced at Fluer, hesitation keeping her in her seat. She didn’t want to leave yet. It seemed like such a shame to cut short her time in the lovely garden with the beautiful girl. 

“There simply is not enough ‘ours in ze day.” Fleur spoke, mirroring Hermione’s thoughts. She stood, to Hermione’s disappointment and offered Hermione a hand. Once again Hermione took it and allowed Fleur to escort her out of the garden.

At the garden gate Fleur lingered in opening the heavy iron latch. She surprised Hermione with a sudden question. “Did yew enjoy your time at the Yule Ball?”

Taken slightly aback Hermione none the less considered her companion’s question. Certainly, at the beginning she did have fun. She had her Cinderella moment, and Viktor was a fine dance partner. If Ron were still alive they probably would laugh about their fight now, especially since they would have had many more dances to share together. Really, they had both been so stupid back then. Hermione smiled, mostly to herself. “I had a wonderful time, but sometimes I can’t help but to think that maybe I went with the wrong partner.”

To this Fleur beamed. “I was thinking ze same thing.” Hermione’s heart beat kicked up, and in the next moment Fleur was kissing her. Hermione felt a wave of gratification wash over her as Fleur turned up her charm. All of her surprise and panic melted away so that it she could only feel happy. She was sharing a kiss in this enchanted garden with this enchanting girl. 

Hermione loosely gripped onto Fleur’s shoulder to steady herself when they broke apart. The young witch felt light headed, and confused, but not a bit upset. Returning her attention to her partner Hermione blushed at the content smile that was gracing Fleur’s lips. 

Fluer lifted the hand she still held, placing a light kiss to the back of Hermione’s hand. “ ‘ermione.” She called. Her voice only just above a whisper.

“Fleur?” Hermione answered. Still bewildered she exited through the gate that Fleur held aloft. She picked up her bag, the ridiculous weight of it returning her to reality. Not waiting for Fleur to follow, Hermione rushed to the Burrow, mind aflame with confusion and panic.


	4. Chapter Four- Harry.

Chapter Four- Harry. 

A/N: Happy birthday Amy!!!

For a mother who lost three children Mrs. Weasley was holding up very well. Perhaps it was her robust and cheerful disposition. After losing three sons she had two daughters to bond with, and a bustling baby Teddy Lupin to care for when Harry was away at work. If she couldn’t stand being at her home any longer she helped George manage the Wizard Wheezes shop, which she found to be a happy distraction. Hermione was extremely grateful to the kind witch, who gave her and Harry a home. 

When Hermione entered the living room all energetic as normal. Mr. Weasly was helping his wife shovel the piles of food onto platters while simultaneously holding an enthusiastic conversation with George about Ginny’s amazing performance at the Quidditch game the night before. Ginny, was silently placing plates at the table, looking embarrassed but happy. 

Hermione walked over to Teddy’s high chair, trying to ignore the sound of Fleur entering through the front door. She picked the baby up, and sat down at her place at the table. The baby huffed in impatience, waiting for Hermione to bounce him on her knee. Giving in, the sound of giggling baby laughter mixed in with the other bustling sounds of the room. 

A loud bursting green flame exploded from the fire place, sending ash scattering about the hearth. Harry emerged from the fire place to a rousing welcome from the room from everyone except Teddy Lupin. The fire had startled the baby, causing him to start crying. Harry rescued Hermione from the upset babe; who was failing badly to calm the baby down. Hermione was never good with children, and was never the domestic type to begin with. Her excuse was that she didn’t understand them, so she was never good around them. Closer to the truth was that she didn’t take the time to understand them; there was always something more exciting and challenging to study and commit her focus to.

Picking up his foster son Harry made his rounds greeting the many Weasley’s, kissing Ginny who was obviously ecstatic to see him so unexpectedly. Amongst all this activity Fleur quietly entered through the front door and slipped into the seat next to Hermione. To Hermione’s relief Fleur seemed to respect her need to gather her thoughts and feelings. Throughout the lively breakfast she made no move to discuss what happened nor attempted any act of intimacy. Neither did she protest to Harry and Hermione excusing themselves and leaving together. 

After breakfast, Hermione headed upstairs at the urging glare from a stern looking Harry. Entering her room she started to unload the goods in her bag, wishing that she wasn’t so full, because a chocolate frog was really tempting with all this stress. Harry took up the old worn fabric chair next to the bed patiently waiting for Hermione to finish. Once her task was done she begrudgingly sat down on her bed and faced Harry. They stared at each other a beat, Harry waiting to see if Hermione would start on her on, or if he was going to have to force it out of her. Lucky for him Hermione caved, beginning by simply stating, “I am looking for a wand Harry.”

Harry wanted to roll his eyes, that much was obvious even to him. He didn’t say anything though, and instead chose to wait patiently as Hermione unlocked her dresser drawer and pulled out a leather bound notebook. She handed it to him with the page open to a well-drawn picture of an ornate wand. The young wizard took a minute to analyze it, trying to figure out if he was supposed to recognize the wand, or realize something special about it. He came up blank, and decided to just have his friend tell him what he didn’t know. “Why this wand?” He questioned. “Is there something special about this particular wand?”

“It’s a Death Eater’s,” she replied truthfully. “The one that killed Ron.” Hermione choked back her sorrow, and clinched her shaking fists.

“How did you…” Harry began, but fell into silence when Hermione pulled out the little gold necklace from under her shirt. She undid the clasp and passed the delicate object to Harry, who handled it in almost disbelief. “This is actually the first time I’ve ever held one.” He reflected. “I thought I lost my chance. I thought, well everyone thought that they were all destroyed. How did you get this?”

“Dumbledore left it to me in a vault in Gringotts a few months ago.” Harry and Hermione fell into silence contemplating the meaning of her words. Dumbledore in life and death never did anything simply. His actions were always full of motives and importance, but no one ever knew what he intended until they found themselves doing exactly what Dumbledore had intended all along. Even then, they could not be sure if it was all the old wizard’s plan or some act of fate. Harry always believed it was the former. Everything Dumbledore said to him had some prophetic consequence. He also never gave anything without a reason, and he certainly had some reason to give Hermione what was probably the last time-turner.

“I used it.” Hermione began again. “I went back to the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“How?” Harry interrupted. “That was ages ago Hermione, I thought you could only go back five hours.”

“The rules say you can only go back five hours.” She corrected. “But you can actually go back farther. There were certainly consequences, I felt quite sick after. Fleur thought I was pregnant that time by the way.” Hermione laughed in remembering. Harry smiled a little uncomfortable, he still wasn’t completely sold on the idea that his friends had been romantically involved. “I went back a few weeks that time. I couldn’t tell who killed him, but I was able to see their wand. I’m going after him Harry, and you can’t talk me out of it.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.” Harry countered. “You were never able to convince us not to go on our adventures, so I don’t see how I would be able to talk you out of it. Besides why would I want you not to go on this hunt that I have every intention to join?”

Hermione opened her mouth as if to protest, but was interrupted. “No one is convincing anyone of anything, we are both going.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what he had said made any sense, but agreed anyways.

Harry was intrigued, if truth be told he thought his life had gotten a little dull lately. It shouldn’t be of course, he had a loving girlfriend and a son. But for the past eight years his life was full of anticipation and adventure, though vastly more dangerous than he would have liked. During those time all he wished was for normalcy, but now that he had it he found he was having trouble adjusting to it. He was so used to having the threat of Voldemort over him that he was having trouble relaxing. Even his new job as Auror was less than glamourous. Despite having a significant amount of experience in defense against the dark arts, he was still a new hire so most of his duties was grunt work. 

The next half an hour Harry spent flipping through the book and Hermione calmly answered his questions.

“So what you are saying, is that we know pretty much nothing about this guy except that he’s a Death Eater, probably rich, and has a fancy wand.”

“Yes.” Hermione sighed. 

“Has anyone told you that this business is ill advised?”

“They would if I had told anyone besides you.” Hermione bantered back.

“Let’s do it!” Harry affirmed excitedly. “If we could just get that curse broken we might have a real chance you know? Granted that the bloke didn’t skip country already.”

“What are we going to do when we catch him?” Hermione asked. 

“Shouldn’t you be telling me?” Harry asked a little surprised. It was her witch hunt after all.”

“I know, it’s just that I don’t know? You know? Oh god I sound crazy.”

“Yeah a little,” Harry conceded. 

“It’s just… I could kill him. I feel justified to kill him, and part of me really wants to. Sometimes to the very core of my being I want to kill that Death Eater. And it makes me feel sick that I could feel that way.”

Harry moved to sit next to Hermione on the bed, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She buried her head into his shoulder, and cried softly.

“Do you know how many times I wanted to kill Voldemort? I did it too. Indirectly with the horcruxes, and directly too. I never told you, but that first year, in that chamber I killed him and Quirrel with my bare hands.”

Hermione looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern, and stray tears still trailing down her skin.

“He couldn’t touch me. Because of my mum’s magic. It burned him. I used that against him and destroyed him.”

“Harry…”

“Don’t feel bad for me Hermione, because I don’t feel bad about it. My point is that it’s only human. Feeling that way isn’t the same as actually murdering, I know I have done both. You don’t have to kill him. If you really want him dead, I would do it for you. Ron was my best friend. I miss him every day.” Harry tightened his grip on Hermione so hard that she nearly winced in pain.

“Thank you.” Was her only response.


	5. Chapter 5- Fleur

Chapter Five- Fleur

A/N: I don’t write love letters I write fanfiction.   
\---

“Hand me the grimoire on barrier charms.” Hermione barked at Harry.

Harry stiffly moved to pass Hermione one of the ancient books they had piled onto the floor of Ollivander’s shop. 

“That’s not the right one, that’s Fire Spells: A History of Burning.” She snapped in irritation.

“How do you even know?” Harry muttered under his breath. She hadn’t even looked up from the book she was currently reading. “Bloody hell.” He swore when upon closer inspection she had been right.

“It’s on the shelf. Third from the bottom. I put it away last night.”

Harry stood up, grumbling and stretching out all the aches and pains in his muscles. He slowly scanned the bookshelf, and plopped down next to Hermione when he found it. He handed her the correct book, and decided that laying on the floor and resting would be more productive than scanning another long winded book for the fourth time. “I don’t know why we even bother anymore. It’s been weeks and we are no closer to solving this.”

Hermione looked up from her book, the dark circles in her eyes giving her glare a sinister enhancement. “It hasn’t been weeks. It’s been two. And there has to be an answer somewhere. There always has been. You just have to look in the right places.” To emphasize her point she dropped a dusty book on Harry none too gently. “Go reread chapter five again. There has to be something we are missing.”

Harry groaned in protest. “We should just get help from a professional. Someone with more experience in curse breaking than us.”

Hermione closed her eyes, wishing Harry would stop breaking her concentration and get back to work. “And who do you suggest? I don’t need to mention this, but what we are doing is technically illegal and we can’t trust just anyone.”

“I know. That’s why we should ask Fleur. That’s what she was doing at Gringott’s when she met Bill right? Curse breaking?”

Hermione’s heart jumped at the mention of Fleur. She managed to suppress a blush at her name, but she couldn’t fight the memories of their most recent tryst coming to surface. 

It was two nights ago, and Hermione had been climbing the stairs to her room after a long day of researching. It was deep into the night, a little past one. Fleur had just emerged from the bathroom into the small hall that joined the stair landing. She was wearing a light silk slip that was cut dangerously high, hair wet and smelling of the perfumed shampoo she used. Her skin was pale, and made even more so by the silvered moonlight shining through an unshuttered window. Irresistibly Hermione had abandoned the stairs and made her way towards her.

Fleur had smiled, a low, sweet smile that pulled at Hermione’s heart. In a low voice that resonated through Hermione’s chest, Fleur called out to her. “‘Ermione.” That was all it took, and Hermione wrapped her arms around Fleur and kissed her, like she had been parched all day. 

Fluer’s lips had been warm, a stark contrast her cool skin that heated beneath Hermione’s touch. She could feel Fleur smile as she pressed her soft lips a little closer. Hermione couldn’t help but let out a pleased murmur, and in response to a gentle push by Fleur’s hand on her shoulder, allowed herself with a slight thud to be pinned against the wall. 

She felt the smooth bumps of plaster under her fingers as she pressed her palms against the wall. The act was supposed to ground her, but instead she felt her heart flutter and her mind haze as Fleur moved to press in closer, her bare leg pressing in between Hermione’s. 

Hermione rode the waves of this lust in confusion, still mostly innocent to the ways of this type of intimacy. She stared into Fleur’s darkened eyes that dropped to Hermione’s lips. She clenched her fingers, digging her nails slightly into the soft plaster, as she fought against a wave of nervousness and quickened heartbeat. A moment later Fleur deepened the kiss and Hermione couldn’t help the hitch of her breath. Nor could she help the soft sound she breathed into the cool night air, as her partner broke away and nipped at the soft skin of her neck. 

Fleur slipped a hand under Hermione’s shirt, caressing her hipbone then moving up her back to gently embrace Hermione’s tense muscles and soft skin. If Fleur’s heartbeat raced like Hermione’s, the witch made no sign of it, her motions controlled, and the curve of her smile roguish as she made Hermione melt for her. 

Under Fleur’s voiceless encouragement Hermione had been bolder that time than any of the others, placing her hand first on the blonde girl’s silken thigh, then a licentious slide upwards. She felt Fluer’s eyes on her, watching her expression as Hermione’s fingers slipped under the hem of the gown, where she felt her boldness falter. Her face burned with embarrassment, the sound of her heartbeat drumming so loud in her own ears, decibels above her breath, which was ragged from nervousness and excitement all at the same time. 

Fleur simply laughed, the charming chime that was without a trace of abashment. Hermione looked then into Fleur’s eyes, and immediately felt more shy. That’s the way Fleur was, every time. Cool, in control, and easy like all this was simple and natural and exactly the way she wanted it. Such a contrast to Hermione, who was panicking in her own inexperience. 

“’Ermione.” Fleur repeated, a soft smile spreading for Hermione. The French girl took Hermione’s unsure hand in hers and lifted it away, placing a gentle kiss into her palm. She then brushed soft pecks across Hermione’s cheek and lips, threading her fingers through the curly brown locks. “Don’t rush.” Were her parting words, as she kissed Hermione goodnight. 

Hermione returned her attention to the present, taking one deep breath to chase away the memories that quickened her heartbeat. “I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of getting someone involved in this.”

“We don’t even have to tell her what we are up to.” Harry continued. “We can just get her to open the door, and move on.”

Hermione sighed and grumbled; not convinced. “It could be dangerous. What if she gets hurt, or worse?”

“Expelled?” Harry joked. “She’s a TriWizard champion! She can handle dragons, I’m sure she will be fine.”

“If we are getting her involved, we have to tell her everything.”

“Herm-”

“All of it.” Hermione interrupted. “I won’t let someone ignorant to our plans risk their life needlessly. I’ll tell her everything, and then it will be up to her to decide.” Hermione ended with finality.

“And what happens if she doesn’t want to join us?”

Hermione thought of Fleur’s affections. “I don’t think that will be the case.” She said softly. At least, she hoped it wouldn’t be.

\--

They were lucky in that they were still in time to catch Fleur before her shift ended. They stepped out into the paling light of the oncoming twilight and walked briskly through the thin crowd of last minute shoppers to Gringott’s Bank.

Stepping onto the bank’s grand marble entryway, they were greeted by the gnarled, ugly faces of the bank’s tellers. The irritation was clear on their faces, it was almost closing time and the arrival of the late customers was obnoxious. 

“Ten minutes until closing.” The nearest teller barked out. “If your business isn’t quick leave it for another day.”

“We are waiting for a friend to finish her shift. Fleur, the curse breaker. Can you let her know we are here?” 

The goblin grunted in reply, Harry’s answer not exactly satisfying. As long as they were in the foyer, Harry and Hermione were his problem. He shifted and extended out a brass tube with a piece at the end. The goblin stood on his stool seat and leaned over speaking roughly into the microphone. “Fleur, visitors for you.” The goblin leaned back and stowed the device. “You can wait for her, outside.”

They leaned against the large pillars framing the doorway to the bank. The only activity they got in twenty minutes was the goblin flipping the sign to closed and shooting them a rough glare. They were about to give it up, when Fleur exited the building with a searching look. Her gaze fell on both of them, and a look pleasant surprise fell on her face. 

“ ‘Arry, ‘Ermione! A pleasure to see yew ‘ere.”

“Fleur!” Harry greeted her with the stupid, foolish grin most men did. Hermione was conscious of her quickened heartbeat, and flashed Fleur a controlled smile. She didn’t want to give herself and their relationship away to Harry. Those thoughts were yanked away, as Harry returned her attention back to the matter at hand. “We have something to ask of you.”

 

They walked back to the wand shop in silence, Harry had made sure that Fleur had understood that their intentions had to be made private. Despite the seriousness of the situation Hermione had almost laughed as Fleur made a disapproving scowl at the mess and dirt that were the remains of Ollivander’s shop. Harry had entered last, and they all waited for him to lift his wand and cast a series of spells, learned by his training as an Auror, to secure the building. When it was done, he and Hermione shared a glance, and in that moment of silent communication it was decided that Hermione would have to begrudgingly start telling Fleur.

“We need you to help us break a curse.” She started plainly. Fleur lifted a single golden eyebrow but said nothing. Hermione paused thinking of where she should start. She decided to start at the beginning, her finding the time turner, her two trips back to the Battle, and then the progress of her witch hunt. Fleur listened to it all calmly, her reactions unbetrayed by her collected countenance. 

“We tried everything.” Hermione finished. “But we can’t find an answer, and we are wasting too much time.” Hermione’s breath was quickened and she shook slightly, the remembered anger from her retelling boiling her blood, and the anxiety of waiting for Fleur’s reply pumping adrenaline and nervousness through her. 

Fleur was calm. “I think zat I am ‘onored. Zat yew would rely on me like zis.” She smiled warmly. “Of course I will ‘elp yew, yew are like my family.” Harry gave an enthusiastic cheer, and Hermione let her shoulders relax, and expressed a grateful thank you. As simple as that they followed Fleur upstairs. 

Before this, Hermione didn’t really know Fleur’s intentions. Passion? Attraction? Maybe even something like a distraction, to forget the empty pain Bill’s death had left behind. Certainly not this.

They crowded the narrow hallway and Harry went into great detail explaining all they knew about the dangerous curse that bound the room. Fleur listened, silent, and intent. When Harry finished she was already deep in thought and in a soft voice she whispered, “Let me think.”

Minutes ticked by slowly, Fleur had been thinking for the better part of nearly a half an hour. Harry, trying to respect Fleur’s need for time, was impatiently turning out his pockets, examining the random bits of parchment and junk he had thoughtlessly stuffed in them throughout the day. Hermione leaned against one wall with half a mind drifting, and the other half examining Fleur. She quite liked the look of hard thought and intelligence on Fleur. It was a different side, still beautiful as the rest, but different and innately attractive to Hermione, who above all championed intellect. 

A few more minutes dragged by until Fleur’s concentration broke and she turned to face her friends. “I am ready tew try. I zink, I understand zis curse. I ‘ave ‘eard of it before, from Bill, and I know what tew dew.” They nodded at her, and as she turned around the tension in the room increased to a fever pitch. Hermione’s eyes locked to Fleur’s hand as she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her wand.

Hermione’s stomach sank and her legs nearly buckled as the room swam. She looked to Harry, whose own face paled as he realized the same truth she did. Fleur’s wand. The same one that was drawn in her book, the same one she saw emit the sick green flash against Ron. 

It was in that instant that the carefully woven charm Fleur had been weaving into Hermione shattered. Her mind blanked out in rage. 

Betrayer! 

She felt herself scream the words as she grappled Fleur, who in her shock offered little resistance and crumpled against her.

Betrayer! 

She felt herself scream again.


	6. Chapter Six- Part One

Chapter 6- The Time Turner (FIRST HALF)  
A/N: I will finish the chapter when I have more time.  
\----

Hermione’s vision swam. First, from the disorienting blow that thrust her off Fleur, and into the wall of the hallway with inhuman strength. Next, from throbbing blow her head suffered as it slammed into the wall with a sickening thump. Sick, she was going to be sick. A dull wave of nausea rose up within her, accompanying the sharp pain that blazed at the back of her head. She looked in anger, as Harry was helping Fleur from the floor with an extended hand, the other keeping a wand level at Hermione. She began to think in a rage, had Harry betrayed her too?

“Calm. Down. Hermione.” Harry demanded. 

“Why are you defending her?” Hermione began to shout, but was cut off.

“EXPELLIARMUS.” He roared. Hermione’s wand ripped prematurely from her hands and sent spinning away. Fleur, confused and terrified stepped behind Harry who moved protectively in front of her. “Think Hermione.” He said more calmly. “You have always been the best out of all of us at that. It doesn’t make sense. This is FLEUR.”

“And she killed Ron!”

“You don’t know that!” He shouted back at her. “When you described the Death Eater to me you said it was probably a man! Tall, and broad shouldered. That isn’t Fleur at all.”

Hermione paused, her mind racing. “And what if it was? She could have used transfiguration, or a Poly Juice Potion…”

“And what if she didn’t? Fleur is our friend, Hermione. We should always give her the benefit of the doubt. You were far away. It could have been similar. Or her wand could have been stolen. Why in the troll’s warts would she join the Death Eaters anyways?”

“Where were you then?” Hermione questioned Fleur in disgust. “After the bridge was blown and Harry was proven alive where were you?”

“I was in zee forest.” She said softly, a hard expression masking her face. “Fighting back the werewolves and zee giants with Bill. Weeping over his body, when a wolf tore his throat out!” 

The hallway was silent, except for Fleur’s muffled sobbing. Harry helped Hermione up from the floor.

“She isn’t lying.” Harry said gently.

Hermione’s anger left her as quick as it came. It left instead a hollow exhaustion, and she felt the full force of the painful headache beat down through her body. “I know.” She consented. “I just, she was charming me, and I don’t know Harry. I just, don’t understand.”

Harry placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We will figure this out Hermione.”

“Yes.” She agreed looking into his concerned eyes. “And there is only one way to do that. Come with me. We need proof.” She said pulling out the Time Turner once again. “It will be dangerous.” She said carefully. “But, I need to know that I’m not insane. That I saw it, that I saw Fleur’s wand used against Ron.”

“I will go with you. You know I would have gone before if you had asked. But first…” He turned to Fleur who had since composed herself, but stood a purposeful distance away from them.

Hermione looked at the woman she had assaulted. Physically, she was fine. Harry had prevented Hermione from doing anything besides her initial tackle. But Fleur’s eyes were red from tears, and the distrusting look she gave Hermione ached her chest all the more because Hermione knew she deserved it. But what if Hermione had been right? Could she really kill Fleur, a woman who not too long ago she was half convinced she was in love with? And what if she had been wrong in her accusation, how could they move forward from this as friends or a couple? Hermione had lost herself, went way too far, and physically and emotionally assaulted Fleur. But, Hermione thought to herself darkly, Fleur wasn’t all innocent in this. How long had Fleur been charming her? Had the laughter, the trysts, and those throbbing emotions all been a lie?

“I’m sorry, Fleur.” Hermione offered what she knew had to be an unsatisfying apology. “Come with us, we are going to travel back to the Battle of Hogwarts to clear this mess up.”

Hermione expected that Fleur would walk out, angry words of unforgiveness screamed as she left. She was surprised then, when Fleur did the opposite. Her blonde brows knitted, and a hard determination straightened her posture and gleamed in her eyes. 

“I will not let, zome wizard insult my name. Let us go.” She said with finality. She offered Harry a reassuring nod, but Hermione noted with a sting, that Fleur would not meet her eyes. How would they move forward indeed. 

Tense grips grasped Hermione’s shoulders. She took a breath, and then started turning back the dial.  
\----


End file.
